A Leather Bound Book of Moments
by James-Padfoot
Summary: This is a collection of one-shots that will primarily feature Captain Swan through (mostly) fluff, angst, and many other types of emotions that come with being alive. One-shots will most likely not be related, but may follow similar verses when possible. Will also feature canon ships.
1. Alive

_Important note: I usually write light hearted stuff, so this is quite rare, so apologies in advance for upsetting anyone._

**Title: alive**

**Rating: pg-13 for mature themes and angst.**

**Warning: Angst. Severe angst.**

**Written because Glee's 'The Quarterback' was playing, and there's one scene that always, ****_always _****destroys me and it just needed to come out. **

* * *

His eyes fluttered, mind hazy as it tethered between the comfort of sleep and the light of the day. The comfort vanished almost instantly as Killian opened his eyes wide, the pain and heartbreak washing over him in wave after wave, magnified as he realized Emma was not in bed beside him.

It had been two weeks, but there was just no abating the chasm of loss and hurt, nothing to dull the edge of pain that wrecked his very soul. She had been born early, with underdeveloped lungs, and they'd named her Hope for so, so many reasons, especially after she fought like the little pirate princess that she was and survived her first two weeks of birth – the most crucial time of all.

She had been growing, eating, breathing, and even smiling; Killian and Emma had been beside themselves in absolute happiness.

She died on her third week.

Her lungs were not expanding, the pediatrician had told them puzzled – as if he hadn't spent years upon years studying the human condition, and Killian had upended an entire table in his rage, screaming what use was science and modern medicine if they couldn't save his little girl. What was the use of any of it?

He wiped his tears on his pillow, hurling his legs to the side of the bed as he padded through the house, walking without thinking about the direction because he knew there was only one place Emma would be.

The same place she spent all her free time in, just sitting on the rocking chair, staring into the distance with tears silently streaming down her cheeks. On the days that he did wake next to her, her back was always to him and the ever familiar tracks on her cheeks and the hunch of her shoulders told him she awoke in tears, or from a nightmare – or even worse, from a dream where Hope was alive.

When his feet padded into the bright blue nursery with its nautical motifs on one side and a mural of the Charming's castle on the other, he found his wife sitting by the side of the crib on the floor, clutching to one of the legs.

Her eyes found his, wet and red-rimmed.

"I'm trying," she said, after a moment. Killian didn't move.

"I'm trying, because I can't… can't do this," one hand waving to encompass the room, "can't do this anymore," she said, voice choked and heavy.

Killian swallowed with a nod. He wanted nothing more than to pull her in his arms and kiss the hurt away, to shield her from the pain, but he felt so broken himself that he was afraid that if he tried, that every time he tried, he only seemed to slice her with the jagged edge of his own miserable existence, an existence that had known so much pain and loss and yet had been so woefully unprepared for the magnitude that was the death of a child. _His _child. His infant baby girl.

"Killian," Emma said, tears falling freely again, "how… how am I supposed to wake up everyday and keep breathing when I know she can't?"

"We have to… for her, we have to Emma," he replied, closing his eyes as the tears slipped past him anyway, any illusion of strength washed away as he recalled his promise to the cold body of his daughter, the last kiss he had placed on her little forehead, the promise that '_Mommy and Daddy will always remember you Hope, we'll always keep you alive in our hearts'._

Parents had only one job. Keep your child safe, let them grow happy; give them what they need.

Killian had failed her, and more and more he wondered if this was just the cosmos returning in ten fold the pain he had caused in his long life, the lives he took, the sins he had committed, repented and forgiven by the ultimate sacrifice of Hope's life. He was no man of God, but if such a deity ever existed, Killian swore it would have to answer to him for this, that he would never forgive it, never accept it. He'd burn in the fires of hell for all of eternity if only it would bring her back.

He took a step forward, each step heavy as though his ankle was tied to a stone, and then another, until he reached his wife. He held out a hand to her, waiting patiently until she gathered some fortitude to face the day.

When she slid her hand into his, Killian pulled her up, and then wasted no time in encompassing his arms tightly around her.

"I don't know how, my love," he said quietly into her hair, "but we will get through this. Somehow, you and I will do this together. Little by little, every day. For the rest of our lives."

"Why her?" Emma asked angrily, arms tightening around him. She had already been down the path of anger before, screaming at him, at the world, raging against the unfairness of it all. Killian himself had unleashed his wrath on David, who had been trying to relate but had used a piss poor example of having to give Emma up… Killian had raged at him for being an insensitive dickwad who knew nothing about the pain of losing a child the way he had. To David's credit, the man had simply apologized, and challenged Killian to one of the most intense swordfights he'd ever had in recent years.

"Is it because I'm the goddamn Savior, which apparently means I don't get to have a happy ending? Or a life?"

"Sweetheart, if this was going to be about her parents, it would definitely be because her father used to be a ruthless pirate," he said bitterly. "If anything, your only regret should be pairing up with me."

"Don't be an idiot Killian."

"Why, because we're _True Loves_?"

He hadn't meant to say the word with such disdain, but what use was any of it at all if this was to be its outcome?

Emma deflated in his arms, the previously tight grip seeping away into exhaustion.

"I just want to stop feeling, just for a while," she said, words against his neck.

Killian hugged her tighter, eyes roving to the empty spot in the cot.

"I know, love. I feel like drinking it all away, but that's not likely to help."

"That _and_ my father cleared the house of any alcohol," she said, and there was a sliver of a smile as she said, barely there that Killian could have imagined it.

"_Bastard_," he said with feeling, and Emma let out a little laugh. It sounded odd, after seemingly unending sorrow, but not unwelcome, not at all.

In the end, the thing that helped them move on came at the hands of Snow White, who had procured a beautiful little leather book with the inscription of _Hope Swan Jones_ in gold lettering, a memory book project that allowed Killian and Emma to write Hope's story, as short as it was.

They wrote about how they worried when they found out about her existence – if she'd be safe from magical threats being a child of two generations of true love, how her father fretted that he'd never be able to hold her for the lack of hand, yet at her birth had deftly picked her out of Emma's arms confidently as if he'd been doing it his whole life, simply because he had been spurred with love for his daughter (he had however, had a panic attack about it later).

They wrote about the first two weeks in hospital where she had stayed under UV light, how Emma had cried and cried when she had to leave the hospital without her baby in her arms.

They wrote about how she was never alone – her mother, her father, her half-brother, her grandparents and step-great grandmother had all been there; she had never known a life of solitude, never had to experience the abandonment her parents swore they'd protect her from.

And finally, they wrote how they wished they didn't have to write any of this at all, that instead they wished more than anything that she was there to see and feel it for herself, and that wherever she was, she knew that they would never forget, never stop loving her, and that'd she would always, always have a home.

It was through this writing, weeks of cathartic release in the form of tears and recollections of moments through words and pictures and videos; that slowly, Emma and Killian Jones picked up their lives and moved on.

And every year, on the 14th of February, on the day of love celebrated around the world, they released a lantern into the sky for their lost daughter, every year, until the day that they died, surrounded by their children and grandchildren.


	2. For the First Time

**title: and for the first time**

**rating: pg**

Emma takes a deep breath, unsure if she wants to enjoy the plethora of emotions to wash over her or block them out until she says what she must, but her decision is made for her as she meets Killian's gaze – sparkling blue eyes wide with awe. She knows the feeling – not in all her 28 years of growing up had she predicted such a spin in her life, finding not just someone she trusts to spend the rest of her life with _but her True Love_.

Her eyes flick to her right, where Henry (smiling so brightly) is holding two golden bands on a pillow, a nautical inspired design looped into an infinity knot with a _K&E_ in its center. The sight makes her relax a fraction, allowing her gaze to return to her soon-to-be-husband's eyes with a teasing grin because he is _such a sentimental pirate._

His smile is so adoring, so excited and hopeful, and she sucks in another breath as the warmth fills her chest.

"I'm a fighter," she begins, and his eyes dance with mirth at her words because of course he'd appreciate her unorthodox vow, "The day we met, we met in a fight – I was fighting your lie, fighting your honesty, fighting that feeling of _rightness_ we fell into on top of that beanstalk. We fought less than I thought we would after that initial meeting, until some time after, when I kept fighting the feeling of free falling in love with you, because I was afraid."

"I almost punched you in the face when you proposed," and at these words a small bark of laughter escapes him, mingling in with the chuckles from the crowd but she keeps her gaze focused on him, because he is all that matters in this moment, "because my first instinct was to fight back against the sheer chasm of happiness that was before me, before I wrapped my arms around your neck and screamed yes in your ear. So Killian, I can promise you that we will have our share fair of fights – because we _both_ believe that people who _don't _fight for what they want, deserve what they get – and we both want great things," she says, watching as his lips fall open slightly as his own mantra is repeated back to him.

"So I stand here today, to make a vow to fight alongside you instead of against you, to fight for us when you forget, with the faith that you'll do the same for me, to love and cherish you, to remain faithful, to question and learn as we navigate the future and life. I don't usually make promises, but this one I know I'll keep – because I promise you me."

There is pin drop silence (save the sniffling she can hear in the background) as she ends her vow, words she's practiced and refined for weeks, because she's never been good at words and spontaneity, but this had been important, because she's not sure how often she's going to make declarations like these and he needs to know, at least once out-loud, what she feels.

She's managed to keep her cheeks tear-free; a feat that Killian hasn't managed to, but she knows, as she picks up the ring to slip through his finger, needlessly saying, "With this ring, I thee wed," that she's not going to be able to hold the tears much longer.

And for the first time in her life, Emma Swan-Jones isn't ashamed to cry.


	3. Lullabies

**Title: lullabies.**

**Rating: g.**

**Written because someone posted that given that Sean Maguire & Colin O'Donoghue are both musicians that it'd be a damn shame if they didn't sing sometime in the show and so... **

* * *

The day Killian found out she was pregnant was the day Emma learnt something new about her husband. He had an incredible voice.

She had hit him on the shoulder, accusing him of covering his beautiful tenor up when he should have _totally _used it to serenade her – she might have said yes faster. Of course, he'd raised an eyebrow and quipped that using his voice might've negated his vow to not use any form of trickery in winning her heart; and said that in any case, it had worked out favourably. Emma remembers hitting him again, but had ceased immediately when he started singing beautiful lullabies in the _twelve _languages that he was apparently fluent in.

She supposed she was glad he did, because during her pregnancy he had taken to singing to her swollen belly in the quiet evenings as they curled up on the couch, talking about their day, and now, the only thing that could more often than not subdue her little infant was the sound of her father's voice, crooning lullabies in languages Emma knew little about.

That was how she found Killian, sitting in the nursery, cradling Mia to his bare chest as he rocked her gently.

"_Ohé! Ohé! Matelot, matelot navigue sur les flots, Ohé! Ohé! Matelot, matelot navigue sur les flots_," he sung softly, as their little baby of three months watched him with bright blue eyes so like her father's.

Emma took French as a second language in high school, and though she could remember embarrassingly little of it, she knew _navigue _had something to do with the navy… or maybe navigation, but something boaty, for sure.

"Are you trying to teach her to be a pirate already?" she asked, walking in and placing a light kiss to his lips while gently caressing the brow of her daughter, who despite the late hour seemed intent on staying awake.

She sat beside him, glad that Snow had the foresight to gift them a rocking chair big enough to sit two.

"Actually," Killian said softly, "it's about a bunch of sailors on a ship deciding whom to eat after their rations run out."

Emma's fingers stilled on Mia's brow, as she turned to stare at her husband incredulously.

"Why is _that_ a lullaby?"

Killian shrugged, taking the opportunity to drop a kiss to his daughter's cheek.

"Lots of lullabies are lessons, love. They've been far long before my time. Isn't that right, Emilia?" he cooed at her. It was way too cute to be allowed, but Emma was still hung up on the fact that her husband was busy singing to their 3 month old about _cannibalism. _

"Isn't there another song? Something nice, like I don't know, Frère Jacques?"

He gave her a positively sinful grin, with a soft "As you wish" before launching into another song.

"_Un crocodile, s'en allant à la guerre, disait au revoir à ses petits enfants, trainant ses pieds, ses pieds dans la poussière, il s'en allait combattre les elephants_, _Ah! Les crocrocro, les crocodiles_," Killian sung, looking positively devious as his eyes caught hers.

"You've got to be kidding me," Emma muttered, shaking her head. "There's an actual song about a _crocodile?"_

"Oh it gets better… it's about a crocodile going to war, only to cower in fear later and deserts when he sees an opportunity…"

Emma shook her head disapprovingly, though she was sure he could see the slight smirk of amusement she was trying to desperately to hide at the irony.

"How about you try something nice for a change?" she snarked at him, patting Mia's tummy to make sure her napkin was comfortable and dry.

Instead of answering her, Killian sung another tune, much to the delight of Mia who rewarded him with a happy smile.

"_Alouette, gentille alouette, alouette, je te plumerai_," he hummed, wincing a little as Mia grabbed bits of his chest hair in her tiny fist and pulled.

"I know that one," Emma murmured, still tracing the features of Mia's cherub face in a bid to rock her to sleep. Killian grinned brightly at her, eyes dancing.

"Didn't you like that princess, daddy sung a _normal _lullaby for you?"

Her words sent Killian into silent laughter, his chest heaving as he struggled to keep his laughter in as to not disrupt Mia.

"What?" she asked, suspicious.

"Love, _aloutte _is about how you're going to pluck feathers off a lark, first from its head, then its beak, then its back, and so on…"

Emma's mouth dropped in shock. "Are you kidding me? What is _wrong _with the French? Jesus."

Killian gave her a shit-eating grin that made Emma say, "We're never taking her to France, _ever."_

"Your mum is terribly dramatic, isn't she, little lass?" Killian asked Mia, who yawned in response.

He grinned at Emma. "I'm taking her response as a yes."

Emma rolled her eyes at him. "If this one is going to be taking sides, you know she's going to be on mine."

Killian stuck his tongue out at her, as through he was 3 instead of 300, and said, "Oh please, she's daddy's little girl. Aren't you, princess?"

But Mia wasn't paying any attention to her parents' back-and-forth; her eyes were fluttering close as sleep called her.

"Good night, sweetheart," Emma said quietly, placing a kiss on her brow as her baby fell asleep in the warmth of her father's arms.

Emma herself snuggled in to Killian's side, descending into a comfortable silence as they waited the usual ten minutes before placing Mia in her cot and retreating for the night.

Later, in the privacy of their bedroom, Killian sung her a special version of her _own _lullaby that included plenty of humming and the use of his very talented tongue.

* * *

A/N – The lullabies mentioned are Il Était Un Petit Navire, Ah Les Crocodiles, and Alouette, respectively. And yes, that's _exactly _what they're about. Also? The mental image of Colin O'Donoghue singing French lullabies is enough to do me in. Au revoir, world.


	4. Daddy's girl

**Title: daddy's girl.**

**Rating: g.**

**This took a life of its own, and is told by Emilia Hope Jones, the youngest of the Swan-Jones clan.**

* * *

"It's not fair!" she said, trying not to sound like a petulant child, which she undoubtedly failed given her father's look of amusement and exasperation.

"Mia," he sighed, her name passing his lips like a whispered oath, and she thought he had no right to be sounding tired at her when it was all .unfair.

"I've been travelling realms with you since I was _seven_! I'm sixteen years old!"

"I am well aware of that," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Mia noticed his eyes roving around the room, as if in search for backup, no doubt for her mother, who she knew she had much less of a chance with – so Mia upped the ante, going for confrontational guilt.

"Come on dad, think about what you were doing at 16. What mom was doing at 16. All I'm asking for is to accompany James and Henry, _the heirs, _on a _safe_ _diplomatic trip."_

"To a far off land whose language you don't speak," her father said pointedly, fixing her with a raised eyebrow as if to say _see my point?_

But Mia had inherited her father's blue irises and dancing eyebrows with a life of their own, so she raised one right back, "You're just worried because this time it won't be with you. Gods, dad, it's a diplomatic trip. In any case, I've been trained by a pirate captain, a king, a bandit queen, a bailsbond person who kicks ass, two magic wielding sorcerers… seriously dad, what more do you want?"

She ignored his half-hearted remark about her use of crass language (honestly, her parents were the biggest hypocrites when it came to foul language) and proved her point by conjuring a swirling golden fireball that danced on her fingertips and illuminated her face and the resolute, determined, expression she was sure her father saw.

He sighed again, louder and longer this time, and she knew she'd won. Mia fought the gleeful expression from transforming her face, instead choosing to regard her father coolly, but she knew he wasn't fooled. He was never fooled, sadly, but since she won she didn't care that he knew she was happy about it.

"Fine," he relented, pinching his nose again, and then as he lowered his hands, fixed her with a small smirk of his own. _Uh oh_, she thought, snuffing the fireball.

"You may go, I'll talk to grandpa, but _you _can talk to your mother."

"What? No! The whole point of coming to you was to avoid mom!"

"Ah, so you admit to openly manipulating me, then?"

"I wasn't aware you could be manipulated," she said drily, but was cut off by his _"_I wasn't. Still_, tut, tut, tut _Mia, bad form, _trying _to manipulate your dear ol' father like that," to which she rolled her eyes at him. Twice.

"So she got to you," drawled a voice behind them, making them both jump in surprise.

"Mom!" Mia called cheerily, throwing her father a panicked glance before facing her mother with a bright smile.

"That's what they call me, yes," she said, her tone keeping with the drawl she had started with.

"I can call you mom too?" her father asked behind her, and Mia rolled her eyes.

"Don't be creepy, Killian," her mother said, rolling her eyes at him and catching Mia's eyes with a look that said _can you believe I married him? _

After a moment, in which no one said anything, her mother said, "So…"

"Uh. Yes, so. Dad-said-it-was-okay-for-me-to-go," she said hurriedly, hoping against hope that her mother wouldn't object – or that if she did, her father would back her up.

"So I heard."

"So can I?"

Mia glanced back, only to find her father resting languidly against a pillar with his arms crossed, watching mother and daughter bemusedly. He was clearly going to be of no help, then.

"Weren't you planning to go anyway?"

That threw her for a loop – Mia's jaw dropped open in surprise as she took in her mother's perfectly raised eyebrow (a habit her grandfather insisted was the bad influence her father had on her mother – among other things) and snapped it shut, trying to decide how to handle the quickly escalating situation.

"Um…no?"

"Seriously, kid?" her mother said, with a look that Mia was familiar with. It was her _I'm a human lie detector, are you really trying that with me? _look.

She heard her father pushing off the pillar, patting her head in pity as he took his place beside her mother, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"You're the daughter of the dread pirate Captain Hook… I'd be just a little bit disappointed if you _hadn't tried _to sneak off," he said.

Her mother let out an exasperated huff beside him.

"Sooo not helping, Jones," she said, shooting him a glare, before turning to Mia, fixing her with a less icy glare.

Deciding she was in the clear zone (more or less), she shrugged. "Better ask forgiveness than permission?"

Her mother let out a little laugh then, shaking her head. "You're such a daddy's girl. Regardless, you know we're protective of you because we don't you to get hurt, right?"

"Mom…" she whined, tired with their constant babying.

"I know, I know, you're growing up," her mother said, putting her hand out to stave off whatever Mia was about to say, "which is why we're going to give you our permission. Because you know, if you _had _sneaked off, you'd have been grounded for a month. At least."

"Almost the same time as the to and return voyage," her father supplied (un)helpfully.

And then, without any warning, her mother surged forward, blonde tresses flying as she hugged Mia in a tight hug.

"We just love you a lot, okay?" her mother said, and Mia was slightly alarmed to hear the shaky tone of her mother's voice, as if the feisty princess was trying to ward off tears.

Mia looked at her father over her mother's shoulders with a questioning glance, but he simply shook his head at her, a soft smile on his features.

"I love you too, mom," she whispered back, hugging her mother tightly. She was suddenly getting an idea as to why her parents had been so resistant to this trip in the first place.

"And I love you three, my princesses," her father said, coming to kiss both his wife and daughter on the crown of their heads.

They stayed that way for a bit, until the moment was broken by a confused voice, "Uh, what the heck is going on here?"

"Shut up and come here for a family hug, Liam," Mia called out to her brother, who to his credit, simply shrugged joined them, commenting on how weird his family was.

"You have no idea," their father said, just as their mother said, "Oh god, my babies are all grown up."

Liam pulled back slightly to fix their parents with a stern glare. "No more kids, okay? I don't think I can handle sharing the limelight."

"Oh my god, you're such a drama king!"

They broke the hug, but her parents kept their arms wrapped around each other's waists (it was disgustingly cute, but she'd never tell them). Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father place a chaste kiss to her mother's temple, grinning at her in that special way she noticed was exclusively for her mother's eyes alone – the same look that gave them the strange ability to have complete conversations with only their eyes.

"They're doing it again, aren't they?" Liam sighed beside her, clearly observing her parents as she had.

To prove that they were completely present, her father raised an eyebrow at Liam. "We were merely discussion the merits of your statement, lad."

"What, I thought I said NO kids!"

"Oh we agree, you three are a right nightmare," their father said, though he was grinning at them.

"Yeah, we were discussing how to get you _out,"_ their mother said, making a shooing motion with her hands as she too grinned.

"You guys are the actual worst," her drama-king brother lamented, slapping his palm against his forehead.

"Ugh, I'm going to go pack," Mia declared, kissing both her parents on the cheek and shoving her brother before stalking out of the room, a big grin blossoming across her face.

_Agrabah, here I come!_


	5. Who Am I

**title: who am i?**

**rating: g**

**written in response to a prompt on tumblr asking for drabble using "you are a stalker" and "dashing rapscallion" from the 3x12 spoiler bonanza.**

* * *

Emma turned abruptly, cornering the leather-clad _weirdo _between two apartment buildings. He froze, looking like a child caught out of bed after bedtime, before smoothing his expression into something of a uneasy smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but Emma had had enough.

"You just don't take a hint, do you?"

The man put up both hands in supplication, as if to show her that he was no threat, but right off the bat, Emma noticed something seriously _off _with his left hand - the angle appeared far too unnatural, and she wondered what his deal was.

"Swan, I..."

"And that's another thing! How do you know who I am? God damn, you are a stalker, aren't you?"

_Figures_, she thought with no small amount of irony, that her exponential success as a bailsbond person in the past year was now entering into stalker territory, which was apparently not an uncommon occurrence in her line of work, especially for kick-ass women. At the very least, her stalker was easy on the eyes, even if he turned out to be some crazy method actor with a possible history.

"No love, _stalking _indicates a predator and prey, and you Emma, are by no means anyone's prey."

His comment was oddly complimenting, and Emma felt herself charmed despite herself, though she fought the feeling viciously, conscious to not show any outward reaction to the complimentary words.

"I, lass, am a dashing rapscallion, here to spirit you back to your _real _life," he said, sounding confident and serious all at once. He even had the audacity to wink and grin salaciously at her, as if he were familiar with her.

Emma sighed. He was back to the whole 'this is not real life' crap, which frankly, she was quickly tiring of.

It was time to end this madness.

"I don't know or care you who are," she said harshly, and was pleased to see the light leave his eyes as he looked at her, properly chagrined, "but if I see you within a 10 yards of me, I'll get you put in the slammer so fast you won't have time to come up with another stupid word."

And with that, Emma Swan stalked off, hoping to leave the insanity behind her. And if she thought she'd miss him just a little bit? Well, she wrote it off as the alarming development of Stockholm Syndrome for the devastatingly handsome man - and only because he was so devastatingly handsome.

* * *

_**I'm still accepting prompts on my Tumblr, which is fandomflail.**_


	6. Hooked

**title: hooked**

**rating: pg-13**

* * *

The first time they kissed, Emma had been riding on such an adrenaline high that she hadn't been able to focus on anything besides the velvety feel of his lips against hers and the pounding of blood in her ears. The second time, she had barely remembered _herself_ to realize much of anything.

When she had gotten her memories back, she had all but launched herself in his arms, burying her nose in his neck to anchor herself as the memories flooded her senses - she hadn't noticed it then either.

But now, it's been almost three days filled with reunions, winged-monkey-attacks and other nonsense one can only expect as The Savior (she thinks she should get it trademarked, because she feels like she's on display most of the time) and Emma's allowed herself to be comforted by Killian's presence (he's Killian now, but when she's angry or scared it's Hook she calls for).

It's terribly selfish, but one year ago when she'd been faced with the prospect of finally allowing herself to admit that she chose him, that she was always going to choose him, that there really wasn't any contest- she'd been so close to just falling into his arms and never letting go.

Now that's she faced with similar prospects (because Zelena is a whole new level of bat-shit crazy) she's figured to hell with it all; if she doesn't get to have any down time, she's damn well going to _make _some good moments.

In any case, in between all the going ons, Emma's started noticing it.

He was subtle, she'll credit him that, and even though they haven't actually kissed since (that botched attempt in) New York, they've held hands, and hugged, and she kisses his cheek sometimes, and he has this weird (absolutely adorable) propensity for dropping kisses to her forehead and temple, which sometimes flusters Emma more than she cares to admit because it's so… _intimate. _

With all that touching, she's noticed he never touches her with his hook, not when he's doing these things, and never when he's talking to her in that low, _adoring _voice. At first, Emma had thought nothing of it, but then, once she noticed this anomaly in behaviour, she couldn't _not_ see it.

She noticed he did it with David and _especially_ with Henry, and Emma had come to a horrible realization - he was keeping that part of himself away from them. Like it was some sort of disease; that if he touched them with his metal appendage, it would infect the people around him and take them away.

It's this epiphany that has her marching to where he's sitting in the Sheriff's station (he's never far from her anymore), unceremoniously yanking the book from his hands, dragging him to his feet.

In response to her rather rude awakening, he simply raises an eyebrow.

"Put your hand_s_ around my waist," she says, the words coming out sharper than she intends.

Killian looks at her, completely confused and wary, as he slowly lifts his good hand to her waist.

Emma's response is a growl, which she intends to be intimidating but realizes he's taking this in a completely different way (not that she should be surprised, given who he is) as his pupils dilate and his mouth opens in surprise.

"Emma…" he says, her name like a beautiful prayer on his tongue.

She blinks, refocusing her gaze on anywhere but his lips, trying to remember what exactly her point was.

His grip around her waist tightens, pulling her just a fraction closer, and then Emma remembers.

"You have to stop," she says, and is rewarded with a look of complete confusion. He's looking at her as if she's crazy, his eyes saying _but you started this! _

_"_I'm not going to break," she continues, reaching out to grab his left wrist, fingers grasping the cuff of his brace and bringing it between them, "this is a part of you, Killian."

She can see the exact moment he understands where this going, feels the abrupt stiffness in his shoulders pulsing through his body, eyes wide and vulnerable.

"Emma," he says, but whatever words he wants to say ends up choked up in his throat; he closes his mouth and blinks at her once, then twice.

She seizes the opportunity.

"You don't have to shy away from me, from us. We accept you, as you are."

He blinks again, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows a deep breath.

"This hook has done a lot of damage love, I only meant for it never to hurt you."

"You won't" she says, the conviction in her voice surprising her, because she realizes in that moment that she trusts him. Implicitly. She trusts with him with all that she is, knows he'd die before betraying her, and she knows she'd trust him with Henry.

She sees his too-blue eyes tear, and Emma, without putting much thought into it, brings his hook up, still grasping his arm tightly, and places a light kiss on the dull end of the shiny metal. Killian sucks in a deep breath, eyes widening as a single tear escapes the confines of his eye and drops to his cheek.

She then places a chaste kiss on his cheek, absorbing the tear with her own lips, before pulling back, deciding a change of subject (or at the very least, a distraction) is in order.

"Besides," she continues, projecting her voice to be as nonchalant as possible, "imagine all the… _uses_ a hook might have…"

Emma raises her eyebrows suggestively, and is rewarded with a bark of laughter as his eyes clear, appreciation shining through his expression.

"You'll be the death of me yet, lass," he says, placing a chaste kiss of his own to her temple, catching a strand of her hair in his hook and twirling it around the metal gently, mesmerised.

"I'm sure we'll find _uses _for this hook, indeed, love."

He doesn't need to say thank you, she can see it in the way he looks at her, in the way he kisses her knuckles, in the way he touches her later, as they hug, putting both his arms around her and breathing her in. He doesn't need to say a word, because she knows.


	7. Ours

**title: ours**

**rating: g**

**Pure fluff. Inspired by Taylor Swift's '_Ours_'. If you're familiar with the song, you'll see I changed some of the lyrics to better suit the story. ;) **

* * *

The door slammed shut behind them, and Killian took a deep, ragged breath to calm his raging emotions. It's not like he hadn't quite expected it, he thought bitterly, because one year was not nearly long enough to erase the bad he'd inflicted during his life, but still, the disapproval had come so unexpectedly that he'd been blindsided.

"Killian," Emma said quietly, her fingers closing in on his elbow and pulling his back to her chest. He stilled, trying to erase the incredulous whispers of "_she chose him?" _despite the fact that Emma had promptly shut them down hard, snarling that yes, she chose him, and would always choose him.

It had simultaneously warmed and broken him – that'd she would stand up for him, _for them_, but also the terrible fact that she even had to in the first place.

Why did he care what Ruehl Gorm thought of his love life, anyway?

He turned slowly, good hand coming to rest on her waist, a now familiar and comforting gesture, as he slowly met her eyes. He could see her trying to decide on the right words, but Killian knew there wasn't anything to say, not really, because there would always be someone against their union. And what did it matter, truly, when in the end all they needed to do was to love each other, and be true?

Before he could tell her this, Emma did a truly amazing, unprecedented thing.

"_Seems like there's always someone who disapproves_," she said, voice coming out in song.

Killian gaped.

"_They'll judge it like they know about me and you_," she sang, the smile on her face distorting the tune – though Killian knew not the original song, and so did not care.

"_And the verdict comes from those with nothing else to do, the jury's out, but my choice is you_," she sung, louder now, touching her forefinger to his nose as she emphasized her choice.

"_You never know what people have up their sleeves, ghosts from your past gonna jump out at me,"_ she said, pulling his hooked hand to her cheek and placed a kiss to his wrist, just where the brace ended.

The words should have worried him, should have made him feel guilty, because he did have ghosts, so many, and he had carried them for so long that letting them go was a challenge he faced every day… but her words were not accusations, they were pure acceptance; he felt in deep in his bones, as if she was saying _that if they do, we'll confront them together, you and me, a team_. His heart felt full. Too full.

"_So don't you worry your pretty little mind, people throw rocks at things that shine," _she sung, tracing her finger from his nose to his temple, to his brow, raising herself to place a kiss to his stubbled cheek, rendering him completely speechless from her words and the tenderness of her actions.

It was so unlike the Emma Swan he knew, and yet so completely her – the way she seemed to know how terribly their words had shaken him though he had fought it with a sarcastic remark and a snide grin, the way she knew he wouldn't ask for comfort but needed, craved it anyway.

"_And life makes this look hard, the stakes are high, the water's rough, but this love is ours_," she sung, hesitating only for the briefest of seconds on the word love, eyes wide and vulnerable.

Through the haze of his surprise and the warmth radiating into every crevice of his being, Killian realized how much of herself Emma was giving him in this whispered song, allowing the lyrics to take a new dimension of meaning to them, making it _theirs. _

This was her, throwing her lot in with his, in such a simple, profound manner. Killian bit his lip tightly, trying not to lose his wits and breakdown sobbing in her arms.

As if completely in sync with his thoughts, she used her free hand to direct his gaze to her own teary eyes, voice lowering as she determinedly kept with the song that was imprinting itself into his memory forever.

"_And it's __**not**__ theirs to speculate if it's wrong, and your hands are tough but they are __**where mine belong in**__, I'll fight their doubt and give you faith with this song for you," _she continued, emphasizing some of the words more than others, as if imploring him to take heed to the words she was saying (as if Killian wasn't already memorizing every single thing about this moment).

Killian wanted to say he understood, wanted to silence her with his lips and _show_ her he understood, that he had lived all this while for her (even if he hadn't known it), that he'd give it all for her happiness, but he dared not break this moment, dared not break her song.

"_Cause I love the scar that's on your cheek, and I love the innuendos that you speak_," she sung, as she traced said scar on his cheek gently, fingers dropping to his lips.

The tears he was trying desperately to suppress fell, and Emma smiled, wiping them off as she raised herself to rest her forehead against his, bringing their lips within a hairbreadth of each other's.

"_And any snide remarks from my father about your tattoos will be ignored_," she sung, and Killian wasn't sure if this was part of the song or if she made it up, but it had its desired effect of making him laugh softly, as she finished, touching her lips gently to his as she sung, "**_Cause my heart is yours_**_ and __**this love is ours**_."

This time, there was no hesitation when she said the word love.

When it was clear that she had finished, her own tears mingling with his own as their lips met in gentle kisses filled with an outpouring of love, Killian let himself show her just how much she was his, and he, hers.

...

Later, Killian would learn the origins of the song, and would be amazed to discover that Emma had indeed changed parts it to suit them, and he loved her all the more for it.


	8. Photographs

**title: moments**

**rating: g**

**Inspired by an absolutely gorgeous CS art piece by keepcalmwearetimeless on Tumblr. **

**10/10 recommend that you look at the piece before/after reading this. **

* * *

As a child, Emma never had any pictures. She's sure the Swan family has pictures of her, but since they never gave any to her, and all her families that succeeded them hadn't given two rats asses about her, taking pictures never became her thing.

She doesn't have any as a teenager either, though she does have one yearbook she saved, where her hair was tied up in a high ponytail and her cheap plastic glasses were perched on her face, barely smiling at the camera. She kept that one because she'd been voted _Most Likely To End Up on National News for Stopping a Robbery. _

Irony of course, would have her being the robber a few years later, but at the time, having a bunch of strangers appreciate her tough-kick-ass personality had meant more than she could hope for as a loner in high school.

Killian Jones doesn't have any pictures from his childhood either, though that's more to do with the fact that he's over three hundred years from a medieval magical forest land, because he at least, was loved until the age of seven - before his mother died giving birth to twins (whom also didn't survive).

Still, regardless of their rather morose childhoods, Killian and Emma have taken to photographing their moments together since life in Storybrooke returned to normal - as normal as a town filled with Disney characters could possibly be, anyway.

And when they move in together (she says yes, and he slides a beautiful aquamarine stone on her finger one day, when she's all dressed in white), Emma decides she's going to have a photo wall.

She fills it with photos of Killian and Henry, and then Liam, and then Hope, and it becomes a family project that Mary Margaret and David contribute to with fervor (possibly overcompensating for not being there to take any in her childhood), and by the time Henry is twenty (and Liam is five), the wall is an impressive six feet in width and twelve feet in length, covering half the stairwell of their house. And she's not even halfway done.

And every time she looks at it as she goes up or down the stairs, she remembers. Because Emma forgot once, a long time ago, for a whole year, and she never ever wants to forget her (imperfectly) perfect family.

Every time she sees the photo of Hope with a crocheted pirate flag beanie, she remembers also Granny, who made it for her daughter lovingly, one of the last things she had crocheted before passing on.

Every time she sees the photo of Henry, Killian and herself taken just days after Zelena had been defeated, she remembers how good triumphs over evil, and how Killian had been focused on her instead of the camera - a reminder that he looked at her the way she always wanted to be looked at - with pure adoration.

Every time she sees the photo of Liam and Killian with their wooden swords, she is reminded of how her little blonde, blue eyed scamp, is an adventure seeker just like his father, and brave just like his brother.

And she knows once her children are all grown up, living their own lives (because Henry went off to Dartmouth, and she'd been so proud but she missed him something fierce), she'll have these memories and moments to look back on, and she'll know that she did okay.

That _they_ did okay.


	9. Twister

**Title: Twister**

**Rating: T**

**Written for CS Drabble Prompt which included the words **_bend, game, heat_**.**

* * *

"Let's play Twister!" Roland insisted, voice rising high above Henry's suggestion of Charades.

"But they're old," Henry stage-whispered, gesturing his hand idly at the adults in the room, "they can't bend and move like we can," he told the eight year old.

"Is that a challenge I hear?" Killian asked, drawing Roland's wooden sword and standing to face his stepson, but Henry merely rolled his eyes at him.

Roland laughed loudly, scrambling to reach for a pillow to fight Killian.

"Twister!"

"I didn't hear you say please," Regina reminded, voice light.

"_Please,_ can we play Twister?"

"Well since the boy asked so politely…" Robin said, grinning as he accepted the game box from Emma.

"I'm out of this one," Regina said, sitting down on the couch.

Roland rounded on her immediately, eyes wide. "Nooooooo, you have to!"

She pulled the boy into her embrace, kissing his cheek. "I'm not so… what's the word Henry used? Bendy? Well, I'm not so flexible, but I promise I'll tickle your father so you can win, okay?"

"That's cheating!" Robin yelled, from his position on the floor where he and Emma were setting up the coloured plastic sheet.

"Funny, coming from a bandit!"

"Ironic, coming from a pirate!"

"Honestly, it's like _I'm_ the adult one here," Henry said, shaking his head at the two adult men while Roland laughed happily.

"You really are, kid," Emma said, placing the spinner down and stepping back.

"Okay, who's playing?"

"Me!"

"We know you're playing, Roland. Who else?"

"Well, I've been challenged, so I'll play," Killian said.

"If the pirate is playing, so must I," Robin declared, as if preparing for a jousting competition.

"I think I'm just going to sit and watch, thanks," Emma said, accepting a glass of wine from Regina. At Henry's imploring stare, she amended, "At least for this round."

To no one's surprise, Roland won all five rounds.

It was sometime later, after Regina and the two Hoods had left with Henry in tow that Emma and Killian found themselves blissfully alone for the first time in three days.

"That was fun," he murmured into her hair, coming to stand behind her as Emma finished the remnants of her wine.

"Your definition of fun is tiring," she retorted, sighing into his embrace.

"Oh, I've got a better idea of fun, love," her pirate said, wagging his eyebrows at her.

"Oh?"

"That Twister game?"

"Mmhmm?"

"What would it be like… if we played… naked?"

"Rather awkward, if you really think about it."

"_Really_, Swan?"

"Think about it, you have to contort yourself into weird positions, and it's just… yeah not as attractive as it sounds…"

He kissed her neck, running his fingers down her sides, unbuttoning her shirt as he did so.

"Pretty sure I could change your mind, love," he said, nibbling a spot beneath her ear that always did her in.

"Right foot, green," she said, pushing him towards the mat.


	10. Gun

**title: gun**

**rating: g**

**written for the CS Drabble Prompt on Tumblr.**

* * *

"I get my own gun?" Killian asked, surprised.

"If you promise not to go on anymore vengeful vendettas, yes," Emma replied, eyeing him carefully.

"Anyone in this country can get a gun," David said, sounding unimpressed with it all.

Killian glanced at him, eyebrow raised. "Are you jealous, mate?"

"Of what?" David scoffed, scrunching a piece of paper and tossing it into the wastebasket. "I have my own gun."

"My gun is nicer than yours," Killian pointed out with a smirk as he took the proffered weapon from Emma's fingers.

"Neither one of you should be allowed a gun if you're going to act like five year olds," Emma said, eyeing her two deputies like a mother would her naughty children.

"Hate to think anyone would be so irresponsible as to give this to a five year old, love," Killian drawled, polishing the silver end of the gun as he smirked at David's bronze one.

"Bugger off, Jones," David said, unaware that he'd absorbed bits of Killian's vocabulary into his own. Emma however, did.

"Oh great, now you're talking like him too," she muttered to her father, bringing a donut to her mouth.

"I am not," he said, standing, and then, in a display of astounding maturity, stuck his tongue out at Killian as he took a step to the loo.

"Oh god, I'm beginning to regret this already," Emma grumbled, turning around to head to her office.

"Oi, Swan, wait!" Killian called out to her, hurrying into her office.

"What?"

For all her grumblings, Emma looked very well rested, and when she caught his eyes, her own lit up in a smile that transformed her face into a radiant shine.

"Thank you, Emma," he said, relaying his gratitude in the simple words.

She took a step closer, smile softening.

"It was this or you continuing to babysit my pregnant mother," she said, pushing him lightly, but he could see she understood all the things he hadn't thanked her for – for giving him a place to belong, for choosing him, for taking a chance.

"Instead, I get to babysit your father," he quipped.

Emma laughed, bright and unrestrained, as David Nolan let out an indignant yell somewhere behind them.


	11. Poison

**title: Poison**

**rating: T**

**written for the CS Drabble Prompt on Tumblr.**

* * *

"Are you sure?" Robin whispered, eyes darting to and fro in anxiety.

"Aren't you supposedly the _king of thieves_, mate?" Killian retorted, rolling his eyes, even as he too checked their surroundings for any persons nearby.

"Killian, if they catch us, we're as good as dead."

"So just like any other day, then."

"You're an idiot."

"And you're too noisy," Killian hissed, as he darted forward.

Killian would have never figured that Robin Hood was quite so… chatty. It was a wonder how the man managed any heist at all.

Together, they skulked to the backdoor of The Rabbit Hole as Robin rattled the lock with an apparatus Killian had never seen before.

"Do we really need more rum though?" Robin asked, as the locked clicked open.

"Mate, we _always_ need more rum," Killian whispered earnestly, pushing Robin through the door.

"Always been more of an ale man myself," Robin said, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the dark kitchen.

"Each man's got his poison," Killian muttered, feeling his way cautiously to the to the back of the bar.

Much to his chagrin, Robin was not as stealthy, and stumbled into Killian, tumbling them both into the open side of the wooden bar with a loud thud.

"Bloody buggering fuck!" Killian grunted, shutting his eyes tightly as light accosted his senses brutally.

"Why is it so bright in here?"

"Because the two of you are the biggest pair of morons I've ever seen, and that's saying something, since I know the Charmings," said an overly loud, extremely unamused, voice.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Is that…. Regina?" Robin whispered to him, still sounding far too loud in his ear.

"At least it's not…," Killian replied, but was interrupted by another feminine voice.

"Emma?" said the lady in question.

"Fuuuuuuck," Killian muttered, dragging the word as he sank down into Robin's shoulder.

When he came to, the pounding in his head was astronomical, and the dryness in his throat matched the feeling of a man parched at sea for days. It was far too bright, and the smell of coffee and bread was all too tempting but too far away to be proper.

"You could have invited me, you know," came a sullen voice, somewhere to his left as Killian blinked blearily.

"Are you serious right now?" said a much sharper voice, which came near to where David was standing.

"What? These two idiots go off on a drunken adventure and don't invite me? I thought we were a brotherhood!"

"Mate, I'll make it up to you if you hand me your coffee," Killian grumbled, focusing his gaze on David's pouting face.

"Oh my god, you are _all _idiots," Emma said, pulling Killian's gaze to her like a magnet.

"Oh. Hey beautiful," he drawled, eyeing the vexed sheriff up and down.

"Could you not look at my daughter like that?"

"Can you all shut up?!" Robin demanded from the bench in the cell, hands pressed tightly against his eyes as he tried to block them all out.

"Fine," Emma snapped, "you two can stay here till noon, and nurse your stupid hangovers in jail. That'll teach you to mix your alcohols like that again."

"You know what they say love, one man's poison is another man's elixir," Killian leered, brain clearing rapidly as his many years of experience with alcohol took over.

"I'll deal with you later," Emma said, training her gaze exclusively on him and making his breath hitch with the heat she was throwing him, "and as for you," she said, directing her razor sharp gaze to Robin, who had the sense to look appropriately chastised, "I'll let Regina deal with you."

"Shit," Robin muttered, sinking back down on the bench to await his fate.


	12. Killian Jones is a sassy bitch

**title: lips and a sassy bitch**

**rating: t**

**Written for the CS drabble prompt. There was another request for the same prompt (**_lips**) filed under OQ, so I doubled up!**_

* * *

"How is it that Emma gets away with bossing you around, but you're a sassy bitch to the rest of us?"

Killian turns to face the sullen Prince Charming (_is he pouting_, he wonders incredulously) with a raised eyebrow as he nurses his glass of rum.

"_Seriously_, mate?"

"I know right, he's one to talk, seeing as how he's married to Snow White," Robin says, smirking at David as if he isn't in a relationship with a queen of his own.

"_You're_ one to talk, you're dating Regina," David sasses back, turning his ire to the supposed _prince of thieves_.

"She's a micro-manager and a half," Killian agrees, which earns him a glare from Robin.

"I was on your side!"

"I'm on no one's side except my own."

"Oh please, you're on whatever side Emma is on," David says, and Killian wonders how the man toes the line between snarking at his daughter and protecting her fiercely in his presence.

"Ergo, my side," Killian says in triumph.

"I prefer the winning side," Robin says.

"That's still my side."

"Has anyone ever told you how arrogant you are, Jones?"

"They usually just tell me how handsome I am, _Charming._"

"Anyone else find it ironic the only reason she calls him Charming is because she thought he was the exact opposite?"

"What can I say Hood, the Lady Snow knows what she's on about."

"At least I wasn't so obvious as Captain _Hook_. With a _hook for a hand_. Just in case anyone didn't get it."

"I should be Robin Arrows then, and you Prince Sword."

The two of them dissolve into laughter, and Killian gives them both a look that speaks volumes of how idiotic he thinks they are.

"Oh there he goes again, with that I'm-better-than-you look!" Robin chortles, which turns into a hacking cough as he chokes on air.

David thumps him hard on the back, while Killian just smirks at the pair.

"Karma is a bitch, isn't it?"

"You're a bitch."

"Really mature, Hood; excellent use of the English language."

"Why thank you, always thought myself the dapper gentleman."

"As entertaining as this is to watch," comes a very amused voice, making all three men jump like children caught red-handed, "Emma is waiting for Killian and David in the car," Ruby says, grinning as Victor's arms encircle her waist.

Killian sees David narrowing his eyes at Victor's arms, and is comforted somewhat that the man's insanely protective persona is universal – though he knows without question that Charming always ups the ante when Killian is being overly affectionate with Emma (which of course just spurs him more, much to Emma's alternating amusement and exasperation).

"Alright then gentleman, I bid you lads adieu," Killian says, rising from his barstool steadily, as Charming rises from his, tottering like a child.

"Goddamn show-off," Charming mutters, purposely knocking into Killian as he kisses Ruby on the cheek and bids them all good night.

Killian nods at Robin, grinning. "He's such a sore loser."

"Wasn't aware this was a competition," Robin says, with an eyebrow raised.

"Life's a game, Hood, and I enjoy winning," Killian sing-songs as he sashays out of the Rabbit Hole, turning around to blow Robin a salacious kiss, which the other man catches with a wink.

He hears Ruby's loud laughter long after the door shuts.

"Hey," Emma says, as she greets him with a kiss.

"Mmm, Swan, your lips taste like chocolate," he murmurs, leaning in further to her side of the car to deepen the kiss –

Only to be met with her father's hands on his face.

"Do you mind?"

"Can't you at least wait till you send me home, Hook?"

"Oh, so we're back to Hook now, are we?"

Emma pulls away from him, throwing her father a look and pushes Killian into his seat, all with a great big sigh.

"Pretty sure this is the first time I've pitied the prince," Regina drawls from outside the car, brushing her coat as she stops by Emma's door, presumably there to pick Robin up.

"Oh please, _your majesty, _he's going to jump on _your_ lips the moment he sees you," Hook drawls, ignoring the immediate glare he receives.

"I assure you Hook, where Robin places his lips is of no concern of yours," she says wickedly, all feral teeth as she continuously refuses to call him anything but his moniker – never mind that he hasn't worn the blasted hook since the final battle.

"Oh, eww, eww, eww!" Emma cries out, face twisting in disgust at the mental imagery Regina has no doubt supplied her.

"Oh grow up, Miss Swan," Regina says cheerily, before heading in to pick up her other half.

"Oh, she's _all_ grown up Regina, _I assure you_!" Killian yells out after her, but is met with a slammed door far off, even though he's sure she heard him.

"Killian!"

"If you don't shut up, I'm going to punch you."

"Fiiiiine, let's go home darlings," he drawls out, sinking into the seat with a sigh, ignoring Charming's incoherent grumblings.

Emma starts the car, and then leans over to whisper in his ear, "And when we're home, maybe you can show me what else you can do with your lips."

"Ohmygod,Ididn'tjusthearthat," Charming whispers, horrified in the back, as Killian lets out a laugh, even as his mind's eye pictures all the things he's going to do.

"Aye," he says simply, voice rough as his hand finds a spot on her thigh – a promise.


	13. Kissing Cursed Curses

**Title: you're crazy and I'm outta my mind – we have to be to do this.**

**Rating: P for PAIN. **

**I wrote this right after 3x17 and because I let it stew so long ended up with an alternate ending. There are two endings go ahead and vote/choose your favorite one. Diverging points clearly marked.**

* * *

It's not that Killian hasn't thought about kissing her.

Because he has.

_A lot._

It's just… being specifically told you can't do something, is a surefire way of ensuring that that particular something becomes the obsession of your thoughts.

Telling a _pirate _he can't do something is a definitive way of making sure he does nothing but think about that something until it is done.

Zelena is good with her mind games, he'll give her that, but he hates her with a passion that shadows anything he has ever felt for the crocodile – impressive, considering the crocodile has three hundred years of a head start.

Still, needless to say, since being told he _can't _kiss Emma Swan, he now wants more than anything to do just that. He keeps picturing (remembering) the taste of her lips on his, the electric velvet of her tongue, the smell of her hair like vanilla and a clear summer's day… it is driving him mad. More than usual.

If that were the only problem however, it would have been somewhat manageable. Killian's no stranger to prolonged celibacy, and he's had practice with his hand in the last year (give or take 200 years if he counts that drunken night with Tink in Neverland…) but there is a much, much bigger problem that _isn't _a euphemism.

Emma Swan is finally letting him in. She invited him to dinner with her family last night, she invited him for both breakfast and lunch, and now she's inviting him to dinner and he's running out of things to do or ways to look busy. She's asking him opinions and looking for him by her side. She's looking at him in a way that he's been waiting for so long and it burns bitterly that he can't embrace this development. Can't embrace her for very real fear that he may break her. Change her. Corrupt her like he does everything.

"What have you been doing the whole day anyway? Reuniting another couple?"

And here she is, reminding him of the terrible things he's done, eyeing him with reverence and isn't that ironic – it's a horrible lie of heroism that has her looking at him like a man of honor he tried so hard to be for her (only to fail, _fail_, fail) instead of the actual (few) things he's done. She'll likely revert to that underlying disbelief that a pirate can do no good once she finds out the truth – he will not lie about this (not anymore), not when there are far more worse things to feel guilty about.

And the _absolute worst _thing about the situation is that he dare not push her away. She's been pushed away her whole life, made to feel worthless and unlovable (even if he pushes now, he knows she has family to catch her, but he's selfish enough to not want to be the one to do so), and now she's trying to reach him, to kindle once more the flames she lit the moment he set eyes on her and Killian is truly at loss for what to do.

His first thought had been Charming of course (and only Charming, because he remembers how the last secret went) but the man hasn't been separated from his wife or grandson or daughter for the whole day, and Emma is too perceptive by half for him to talk to David under her nose.

Which brings him back to his current predicament – how does he say no without making her feel rejected? How does he deny her this choice, this autonomy (it's not much of a choice, but still) when he never has before? Who is he to decide what is best for her – her magic or her loved ones? No one. He is no one, and he must remember it. Or worse perhaps – he is a pirate, and must embody it.

"Nothing like that Swan, pirating and all that."

He tries for a light, arrogant tone, but he hasn't been the same since Zelena pulled that number on him and it comes out flat instead. In any case, Emma sees right through him, rolling her eyes.

"What's going on, Killian?"

And there she goes, using his given name again, for no other reason than because she wants to; they're alone, waiting for Snow and Charming to return with Henry and it sounds like a prayer and revelation and redemption but it also hurts. Everything hurts.

"Nothing, just tired," he says, because the truth is he is tired, and he really should have left five minutes ago when he delivered her safely to her door. _Stupid, stupid, weak._

"Lie," she says immediately, rounding to face him fully, eyes searching.

"Emma…"

"I'm not going to ask again. Tell me. Talk to me."

What should he tell her? How long can he abstain from meeting her gazes or skirting away like a wide-eyed doe every time she nears him? What can he tell her that will soothe her curiosities but not damn her?

"Talk to me. _Please_."

In the end, it's the pleading way she says please that does him in. The pain laced in it, that he isn't trusting her with whatever this is, the need she has to comfort him – he knows because he feels it all the time with her. It's the look in her eyes, screaming, _I'm here for you. Finally. Let me be here for you._

_Please._

He brings his own two fingers to his lips, kissing them, before placing them on Emma's cheek. (He prays that Zelena had meant a kiss literally from lips to lips, worded as she had, instead of anything resembling one because if not, he's done for.)

Emma looks at him, stunned.

"I can never do that," he confesses quietly.

"What?" Her entire expression morphs from stunned to extreme confusion.

He wonders how much to tell her, he wonders who is listening. Wonders how much he needs to tell her before she seizes and runs. It almost makes him want to push, to scratch the scab and twist those scars to protect her – love is pain, isn't it not?

"Does it matter?" he wonders aloud. "All that matters, Emma, is that I will never leave your side. Not willingly, and even not then. Is that enough?"

That at least, is the truth. And enough of a declaration to scare her. Mayhaps.

He can tell she's grappling with his words – his subtle but clear plea for her to leave it well alone, because she's got his reassurance, his love and heart and trust; he'll fall on his sword a thousand times over if it means Henry and her will be kept safe. He hopes she knows that, or can see his intent at the very least. He also hopes (not really, but also _please_) that it is enough scare her away for now – Emma Swan always runs from his declarations.

"No," she says finally.

Killian sighs. And yet she stays now.

"The whole story, Killian."

"Don't think you've ever used my name this much in one night, love," he tries instead, a last shot, struggling for that flirtatious defense he loves so much.

She doesn't say anything, simply levels him with a withering glare that would melt icecaps, the command clear in her eyes. _Tell me now._

So he does.

"I was not as…" he trails off, searching for the word. His extensive vocabulary fails him for once, because he's never had cause to attach himself with such a word, never (still doesn't) think himself ever capable of holding a hero's mantle.

In disguise perhaps, but nothing more than a wolf in a sheep's cloth.

"I am not your father," he says, settling on that.

Emma scrunches her face at the comparison, looking as if she's swallowed particularly sour milk.

"I'm not… Prince Chaming. The hero. Always doing the right thing, helping people in need."

She sees where this is going before he does.

"I already told you," she cuts in, "I don't care what you did in that year. If you had to use less than… savory means? Fine. Doesn't make you a bad person. You know why? Because _you came back. _You found me. That's all _I _care about."

He opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off again.

"What I do want to know, is what is going on right now."

"If I kiss you, you'll lose your magic," he says simply, the words flowing out as if he's discussing the day of the week. He's kept them so tightly strung that it simply springs free, now that he says them.

Her eyes bug out slightly, mouth opening once before closing tightly.

"If I don't kiss you," he continues, "she'll go after the ones you love. Your father, mother, _Henry."_

"That bitch," she swears.

"Aye."

"Wait a minute… don't kisses… you know, break curses?"

_Ah, and therein lies the crux of the matter, doesn't it, Swan?_ he thinks.

"She cursed my kiss, Emma."

"How the hell do you curse a kiss?"

"By having the cursed say out the name of their affections."

"And you said my name?" It's not quite a question, she knows, _she knows he said her name, _but the wondering lilt at the end of her statement tells him her need for reassurance – that it's her, always been her; that he's no longer living in the past, avenging a ghost.

"I did."

Emma sighs but to his everlasting surprise, she doesn't sound as scared or closed off as she usually does when such vulnerable topics are broached. She doesn't even sound surprised. _She knows._

He wonders what has changed to make her feel so accepting of her feelings, of his feelings. He wonders what is it that makes her stay, instead of turning her back and running away as she always does.

"Would a True Love Kiss break a curse on a cursed kiss?"

"I'm not willing to risk the attempt, Swan," he says seriously, realizing in that moment that she doesn't think this is their biggest obstacle – everyone's been in danger since the moment they all stepped to Storybrooke, and it's a wonder she sounds more like a curious child puzzling a riddle than the scared mother she was only two nights ago, desperate to run away from the magical mayhem.

Even more surprising is the way she says it, _True Love's Kiss_, like he hadn't tried it already (and failed spectacularly), almost a week ago in New York. Like she believes in it. Which would mean…

"You don't believe in us?" she asks, voice surprised and soft, and who the hell is this woman, Killian thinks, who is suddenly so sure in her love for him, fighting for it when only a day prior she'd pushed him away. Have they all been cursed into sweet madness?

"Do you?" he challenges; deflects.

Her answer is resolute, sure, steadfast. "Yes."

"Do you love me, Killian?"

He stares at her for a full good moment, completely flabbergasted, because he has to be dreaming, or maybe this is Zelena again, but he _knows_ Emma, knows her in ways he had never known Ariel to tell the difference, knows it's impossible to imitate the soft smile and shine in her eyes, the gleaming band of gold when the light touches her head just that way, or the way she's looking at him – terrified of what's she's doing but determined all the same.

There are so many ways to answer her.

_With every beat of my rotten heart that you've made real._

_More than I love the sea, The Jolly, and any treasure I've ever laid eyes on._

_With all of my right hand, and the phantoms of my left._

_With a need, a want, a burn, a desire, a truth that resonates to every particle of my soul._

_Funny you should ask Swan, when you've had my heart all along._

In the end, he settles a for a simple "Yes."

"Good," is all she says, in a way that is far too eerily familiar, as she launches forward, catching him by his lapels and angling his mouth to hers in a collision of lips.

* * *

_ENDING 1_

* * *

The moment they touch, a burst of wind ruffles through them, brushing through his hair like the touch of a warm summer sun, radiating outwards into the ether. He knows what it is without even having to ask – feels the purity and _rightness_ echoing in every chamber of his beating heart, rapid and steady with heady contentment.

They remain like that, kissing and pulling and drowning in each other (because no matter how terrified he is, he just can't let go), before Emma pulls away, resting her forehead on his.

"Look," is all she says, bringing her hand in between the space of their chests, furling it with a flourish she could have learned only from Regina, and one moment later he feels it, the miniscule lightness on his fingers, and she has a ring of his in her hand, the gaudy red ruby and suddenly, he feels like she's always meant to have it.

"It's yours now," he says, kissing her impetuously as he does so, just because he can.

"My true love," he whispers, words a touch incredulous – he knows he loves her, know she's _it, _but to have it in such finality, such authenticity and validation… it makes his head spin with awe because _this is real._

He's only just moving back (with Emma chasing him with her lips), when several things happen at once.

"Aren't you pathetic, _Captain, _didn't even last a full day."

BANG!

Killian jumps, pushing Emma behind him, drawing his cutlass in a fluid motion as his eyes take in the scene before him.

Zelena, in one corner of the room, standing by the kitchen counter; and the rest of the Charming's plus Regina stumbling through the front door in panicked haste.

"What is…YOU!" Charming yells, charging for the Wicked Witch with nothing but his bare hands.

"Henry, take Mary Margaret and go to Killian's room now!" Emma commands, stepping out from behind him.

"What is…"

"NOW!"

Regina pushes them both out, shutting the door hard, but Killian has little time to note what her actions are, because Zelena snaps her fingers, appearing directly in front of him.

"You're really terrible at secrets, but thank you, captain," she says, voice sweet with poison.

"Think again," Emma growls, raising her hand to conjure some kind of ball of white light, but Zelena simply laughs.

"That, my pretty, is _exactly_ what I wanted."

"What the hell _do_ you want?" Regina snaps, hurling a fireball that simply vanishes as it reaches her sister. He empthasizes greatly with the queen's confusion and frustration – he'd like to know just what the damn hell is going on too.

"True Love's essence," Zelena simpers, and then in a deft move, tugs both at Killian and Emma's heads, dislodging several strands of hair, and Killian jabs her the same time Emma throws her fireball, but she's already gone.

There is a grim look on Regina's face as her gaze catches his.

"This just got a whole lot more complicated."

#

* * *

_ENDING 2_

* * *

The moment they touch, a burst of wind ruffles through them, brushing through his hair like the touch of a warm summer sun, radiating outwards into the ether. Magic. Her magic. Radiating _out._

Panic seizes his heart, _what has she done? Why?_

Killian shoves, hard, disengaging himself from Emma. She stumbles, hitting the counter with a pained cry, looking at him in hurt, in pain, in confusion.

"What the hell?" she wheezes.

"How dare you?" he rages, storming up to her, straight-backed in his imposing height. His eyes scan down her body to ensure there is no lasting damage, before meeting her green gaze that is now turning stormy. They both have fiery tempers, he knows this, and while he's never unleashed it on her, it seems this is to be their first fight.

"Excuse me? Do you even know what that was?!"

"That was you throwing away your gift! That was you putting us all in danger!"

"That was me making a choice!"

"It's not just your choice to make, Emma!"

"Oh? Then whose? Yours? My mother? Regina? It is my magic and my choice._My life," _she hisses.

"She'll kill you! She'll kill Henry. Everyone you and I love." The admission is torn from him in anger and fear, but the moment the words pass his lips, a new kind fear rages inside him – a desperate kind of fear akin to a man bound and gagged, dropped to the bottom of the ocean with naught but a boulder tied to his leg.

And just like that, the rage dies down, and he heaves a broken sob, unable to hold back from the torrent of emotions – the guilt from the past year, the seemingly impossible task, the high of finally finding her only to be faced once more with a stone wall, being cursed because he _destroys _everything he touches…

She regards him with fire in her eyes, she wants to scream and rage at him some more, but perhaps sees just how _broken and useless and disgusting a human being he truly is _and perhaps this is the moment she finally tells him to bugger off, to leave, but she settles for a cold tone that cuts through him like a thousand paper cuts instead.

"This was my choice to make. You had no right to keep this from me. You've always given me a choice, but you tried to take it away when it truly matters? It makes you no better than Neal or August or my parents."

Maybe she sees the words in his eyes, the _I wanted the best for you, I tried to protect you, _because she continues, eyes glinting.

"I don't care about your intent, or your pretty words. I've always cared about what you _did_ more than what you said."

"But Killian?" her voice softens considerably, a loud exhale accompanying her words as whatever anger simmers down, "I also made a choice with you."

She steps forward, one step then two, standing directly in front of him as a trembling hand finds purchase on his chest.

"Trusting you is my decision. Proving me wrong is your choice. You've never done so before, please don't start now."

"I love you, Emma," he whispers, feeling completely _wrecked. _He doesn't know what else to say, what else to do, because this is everything he's ever wanted but he's destroyed her, and how is he going to protect her now?

She cocks her head at him, tilting it this way and that as if she's trying to get a read on him and it's coming up fuzzy. "I think you missed out something really big there."

"What?"

"That wasn't magic _leaving_ me, Killian. That was the magic of a True Love's Kiss. My magic is fine," she says matter-of-factly, waving her hand, his coat disappearing him his body and ending up on the counter behind them.

His eyes widen at the implication but she doesn't give him time to process it, surging forward to meet his lips with a kiss.

His last coherent thought is that they're _definitely_ exploring the more _creative _aspects of her magic. Later, after Zelena, after madness.


	14. Dancing with the Princess

**title: dancing & pickles**

**rating: g. **

**written because we need fluff to tide us through.**

—

"Daddy," Mia called, standing tall, as if she were six feet instead of three, "teach me to dance."

Her voice was a touch commanding, and Killian raised an eyebrow at her phrasing, waiting.

She let out a huff, straightening the light chiffon dress Regina had gifted to her only a day prior, before biting her lip in a move that she could have learned from no one but Emma, "_Please, _daddy?"

"I'd be honored to, my lady," Killian answered gallantly, bowing exaggeratedly to his daughter.

She was a curious little one, full of questions and observations, and in a stage of development where her voracious appetite for knowing _everything _meant she was in constant demand to learn new things. A demand Killian was more than happy to fulfill – provided the little lass minded her please and thank you-s.

"I'm not a lady, I'm a princess," she corrected him, adopting a naturally haughty tone that he supposed ran like a vein from Snow into Emma and now Emilia – all without them realizing.

"Very well, _Princess_ Emilia Anne Jones, accept my humblest apologies, though a princess is also a lady."

She giggled, her laughter ringing so much like the grandmother she would never know, bringing Killian back to a time when he was no more older than her, and happy, truly happy. He'd give everything he was to ensure she stayed this way.

He extended a hand, and Mia curtsied hastily, sloppy, as she rushed to take his hand in a whoosh of breathy laughter, eager to start moving. He took her other hand in his left; grateful the crocodile had seen fit to return his hand (not that the man should have taken it in the first place, but bygones and all that), and pulled her close.

"Daddy, you're too tall," Mia complained petulantly, cheek resting on the fabric above his knees.

"You're too short."

"I'm not short!"

Killian twirled her, laughing at the indignation in her voice.

"You're practically a dwarf!"

"Daddy!"

"At least you're a beautiful little dwarf, my little love," he soothed, grinning cheekily at her, blue eyes meeting blue.

She stuck her chin out stubbornly, the same chin she shared with her mother and grandmother, "I'm not just beautiful, I'm _dangerous."_

At her words, Killian felt a surge of pride rushing him through him, a young little girl whom he knew would grow to be independent, proud and intelligent; both princess and pirate in the best way possible.

"Twirl me!" she demanded again, conversation forgotten as she stepped on his boot-clad toes to raise her height.

With a practiced move, Killian bent and picked her up, raising her high above his head as he twirled, much to her delight as she cried, "Faster, faster!" hands stretched out in an easy demonstration of absolute trust.

"If you two keep that up, you're going to be too queasy to eat your tea cakes," Emma chided them from the doorway, tone far too amused to be taken seriously.

Killian lowered his daughter, tucking her against his side as Mia snuggled comfortably against him, resting her chin on his shoulder as they moved towards Emma.

"We're never too anything for tea cakes, eh lass?"

"Chocolate," Mia said with a tone of absolute finality, as if they were intensely debating the best flavors.

"That's my girl," Emma said grinning, nuzzling their daughter's cheek as they closed the distance.

Killian kissed Emma's neck gently, drawing a pleasant _mmm_ from his wife as the 4 Joneses huddled together, the littlest of the lot sequestered safely in Emma's protruding belly.

After a moment of pleasant warmth, Mia wriggled in his arms, a low whine beginning as she said, "I'm dying of hunger."

Emma laughed, (such an easy sound after so many years of hiding away her happiness) pulling away from them.

"You're such a drama queen like your father."

"Oi!"

Mia wriggled more, clearly wanting to be let down and Killian let her go, watching as she ran out the door and down the hall, presumably to the promise of chocolate tea cakes that were no doubt waiting for her.

Emma shook her head fondly, meeting his eyes as the corners of hers crinkled in a mixture of age and happiness.

"Your little pirate is also hungry," she informed him, pulling his fingers across her belly, allowing it to rest on the roundest part of her bump.

Killian closed the distance, leaving his hand in place as he kissed her soundly, swiping his tongue against her lips for a taste.

"You can tell him I'm still mad about that night."

"Strawberry and onion juice isn't the weirdest craving by far."

"But it did leave you with wind like the bloody kraken."

"Kid's gonna be a menace, huh?"

"My menance," he said, leaning in to kiss her once, twice, and then a third time for good measure – just because he could.

He was unsurprised to see tears pooling in Emma's eyes – this time during Mia's pregnancy, she had alternated between wrath and lust, so emotional tears were a much more welcome substitute this time around.

He simply kissed her cheek; thumb drawing up to wipe the tears away.

"You're such a beautiful mess, Swan."

"You still think I'm beautiful?"

"I'm always going to think you're beautiful."

"You're such a goddamn liar, Jones."

"If you say so, Miss My Superpower is Lie Detection."

"Ugh, whatever, let's go eat some cakes before _your _daughter eats them all."

"I thought she's _exclusively_ my daughter before 5 am and after midnight, and our precious angel all times after?"

"And when she eats my chocolate cake. Which I intend to have with pickles."

"Gods, our son is so bloody weird."

"Yeah, but he _is_ ours."

"That he is," he answered with a grin, nudging his wife out the door with a hand to her back.


	15. Good Enough I

**Title: will i ever be good enough for you?**

**Rating: t**

**Because I need Daddy!Killy like air, but the both of them have such huge insecurities and I just.**

He was careful, very careful in the way he worded his gratitude, in how he approached topics of love and family and _children. _He loved her recklessly, loved Henry just as much, but no matter how often he assured her he was happy, that the three of them was all the family he needed, Emma knew that deep down, what Killian wanted was a son or daughter with his eyes and her smile.

She also knew he'd never admit this, because he would never want to make it seem like Henry wasn't his (the truth being that Henry had far too many parents already, and was loved ferociously by all of them), or that he needed more. But Emma knew he did – the bits of the pirate in him needed something to call his own, and she could understand that, could not begrudge him that.

And the truth, the absolute truth, was that during the year in New York sans memories – Emma _had _in fact thought about giving Henry siblings; Walsh had made it seem so easy, but then again, hindsight is perfect vision.

"Emma?"

She snaps out of her thoughts, refocusing back on her _husband_ (and doesn't that title still feel surreal).

"What?"

He raises an eyebrow at her (she's sure half the time he doesn't even know he's doing it) and says, "I asked if you wanted to watch the final one."

"Oh."

Right. It's the idea of the last movie that had spurned her tangential thoughts in the first place – she hadn't seen the other three Shrek movies, but she's seen this one, knows what it's about and can't help but wonder…

"Sure," she replies, but she's hesitated a second too long because he clicks the TV off and turns to face her, eyes searching.

"Perhaps we will, I'm quite curious to see what more mischief this ogre can get up to, but I'm far more curious about what's got you thinking so hard, Swan."

She bites her lip, considering. She's not sure how to put her thoughts into words, not sure how to tell him that she wants this just as much as he does. They've never talked about this before, and it's never been a burning need for her (Henry is enough, Killian is enough), but she's getting older, and the idea of a little girl with her father's dark hair and blue eyes and her own strong chin is an image that's become more and more prominent in her dreams, alongside a curly blonde boy shadowing Henry around like a lost puppy.

She exhales.

"Maybe I'll tell you after we watch the last one."

"Emma," he whines, "you know I'll not be able to concentrate."

"I want kids," she blurts out, in lieu of any other exposition, and she can see just how unprepared he is for this declaration because the remote control in his hand slips to the floor, as does his mouth, which gapes open in shock.

It surprises her too, the use of the plural word, the _want _emanating from her subconscious as it becomes tangible in the air around them.

He blinks, and then recovers, shutting his jaw tight, eyes dimming into that same cautious look he gets whenever David passes little James to him, or when he watches her with James and he thinks she doesn't know… that yearning desire that is forcefully tamped down by a man who thinks he doesn't deserve to ask for such gifts.

"Do you?"

"I do," she says, with a conviction that warms her.

Killian's eyes widen, and something flashes through his eyes but Emma can't decipher the look, and it's then when his jaw tightens imperceptibly, that it hits her.

Maybe the reason he's never had children is because _he can't. _Physically can't.

She feels her heart race, the implications of such a scenario running through her mind, the horror of the inadequacy she's made him feel.

"Oh god," she says, unable to keep the horror to herself, "I'm so sorry!

"You… we don't have to! I don't need any more kids! I just. Oh god. You're enough. Henry is enough. We're happy, aren't we?" she asks desperately.

Killian takes a deep breath, but there's confusion and his cautious stare is now ten-fold, staring at her like she's a newly discovered species of fish.

"Emma, love, tell me truly, do you want to have children with me?"

The conviction that was there so strongly before wavers, because yes, she does want kids, but not if admitting that will break him. She's not sure how to answer him truthfully without sparing him any hurt.

"I do," she says quietly, looking down to his hand and entwining it with hers. "But just the three of us is all I'd ever need. As long as I have you, and Henry."

"And you think that I do not want these same things?"

"Why didn't you ever have kids with Milah?"

It's something she's always wanted to know, and the question is out of her lips before she can think it through – in any case, it's relevant to the discussion.

"She never wanted anymore after Bae," he replies without hesitation, but there's an underlying sadness that tells her there is more to this story.

Emma understands that – in the first few months of Henry's pregnancy, the part of her that didn't hate Neal for abandoning her had been gratified that she had some part of him that could never leave her. That feeling hadn't lasted, of course, but she can imagine how different his life might have turned out if he had something more than revenge to live for.

"When she died, she had only just found out she was pregnant."

Her eyes snap to his in surprise, fingers tightening around his own as the sudden admission rocks her.

"What?!"

Killian untangles his fingers from hers, twisting his wedding ring with his thumb as he stands. Emma feels rooted to the spot, staring up at him.

He lets out a bark of harsh laughter.

"It was why we docked in that foreign little town… to see a healer."

He picks up his mug of tea and takes a sip, setting in back down before starting into a pace.

"Up on the beanstalk, you told me that The Dark One took from me more than my hand. You were right, of course, but that wasn't the whole story. The whole story was that Milah cried into the nights for abandoning Bae. Her only saving grace was that he was with a father who loved him, who would do all he could to protect him. A whole load of cockney as we'd all later find out."

He stops pacing for a moment, locking eyes with her, gaze simmering with rage that rankles from an injustice that she suddenly realizes will never abate, but simply be cast aside for the greater good, or for happiness. It was something he could move on from, but could _never _forget. Nor forgive, by the looks of it.

"Milah thought that despite everything Rumple had done to her, from the arranged marriage, though not uncommon at the time, to the mental abuse, the poverty and her lack of agency, that the one thing he would never fuck up was Bae. But she still _had_ abandoned her only son, despite these platitudes, and so she swore to never bear another child again because she thought she didn't deserve to be a mother. When she met me and we fell in love, this was not an issue – I was a pirate, savoring life on the eleven seas and she was enjoying the freedom of being her own person. I always wanted a family of my own of course, but there are a lot of different kinds, and Milah and my crew were all I needed. Life aboard a ship is no place for a child, anyway, until 5 years after our meeting, we ran into another pirate ship."

He takes a deep breath, and Emma watches the tense set of his shoulders as he recounts the memories she's sure no one has ever heard before.

"He was a lowly pirate, stealing from fishing merchants and the like, and when we boarded his ship to steal his stolen fish, there was a little girl. About 6, with a sword of her own she named Needle, looking very much like a needle herself, as she yelled for us to leave her vessel alone, lest she defend it to death."

Killian's smile was a tad misty as he told the tale, and Emma could hear him drawing another deep breath.

"You live _on the sea_ and you raided a ship to steal their fish that they stole from another ship?"

He shot her a grateful smile, nodding. "Aye, pirates, and all that. We were a lazy bunch of dodgers."

"You'd think it'd take more effort to board another ship than to just catch your own damn fish."

"Maybe, but what's the fun in that?"

Emma rolled her eyes at him, smiling slightly to encourage him. "The little girl changed your mind about raising kids onboard?"

"Aye. Meara, was her name, and I was… well, completely besotted with the idea. Until that moment, I hadn't realized just how much I wanted…"

He scratches his neck, looking at her.

"It took another year to convince Milah that we deserved a second chance to do it right, and another year for the effects of the tansy tea she had been taking to wear off, and then. Well, you know what happened."

Emma nods tightly, feeling a burn in her chest for the man before her. So much lost, and yet he still has found it in himself to love her the way he does.

"I got another chance with Bae in Neverland…but too many bridges had been burnt by then, and I was bitter, and angry and hurt and I lashed out when I should have protected him no matter the cost. I took him at face value when he said he never wanted to see me again – and I deserved his scorn for handing him to Pan. I wonder if he knew that I went back every week, populating his cove with fish, removing any dreamshade near his cave; it was the least I could do but it was never enough. It'll never be enough."

Emma rises to her feet as the tears spill down his cheeks, wrapping her arms around him tightly, halting his pacing.

"You've made it up by loving his son," Emma reminds him gently, placing a kiss to his bicep.

"I want to have children with you, Emma, if you want that too, but I'm afraid I've already proven to be terrible at it."

"Killian…"

"No. Don't you see? I failed that little unborn child when I failed to protect Milah, and then I failed Bae."

"You didn't _fail_ them, but whatever the case, you won't fail this one. You haven't failed me, or Henry, and you won't. We all get second, and third chances at our happy endings, you're the one who told me that, remember?"

Emma pulls back slightly, searching his face. He looks as if he wants to believe her, but doesn't dare.

"We're going to do this together. I've never really been a parent either, not to a baby. So if you want to, we'll do this together. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Because you and I, we don't fail each other Killian Jones. We never have."

He stills, gripping her arm to hold her in place as he searches for some kind of absolution on her face, before surging forward to meet her lips in kiss. It's a promise, the way his lips press against hers insistently, it's a vow that melts into happiness as the possibilities for a future blossom before them.

When he pulls away, he's grinning brightly and she imagines the wetness of his eyes born from sadness earlier has transformed into tears of hope. She can't help but mirror him, feeling the muscles in her cheeks stretch in beautiful agony.

"You know, at first, I thought you hated the idea because you _couldn't _have kids. Like you know, something wasn't working down there," she says, grin in place as she teases him with her knee, brings her fingers to swipe at his cheeks.

His reflex is lightning quick, gripping her thigh firmly in place against his groin.

"Oh Swan, perhaps I should demonstrate how well this particular appendage works, hmm?"

He grinds into her, still soft and pliant, but Emma knows they're working themselves into state that will have them both wanting before long, so she draws out the teasing a little longer, shedding the weight of their conversation into the ether.

"It's been a while since it was tested, and it _is _like three centuries old…"

"You cheeky minx," he growls, pushing her down onto the couch with a thud.

"_Your_ cheeky minx, Captain," she says, running her foot along his calf, the practiced motion causing him to stir in his sweatpants.

He tweaks a nipple, the sudden movement making Emma jerk up into him.

"Yes, my treasure which I'm to claim," he says, grinning at her predatorily.

"Just shut up and fuck me already, Jones. Hard," she grumbles, because he _always_ talks too much during sex anyway, and she's suddenly feeling like she wants to be fucked into the couch until she can't walk straight for days, wants him to pour out every bit of insecurity and fill it with love instead, hope and happiness and Emma Swan is not a sap, but loving Killian Jones changes a person.

His eyes darken, and she feels him suddenly, stiffening where he is pressed flushed against her.

"As you wish, Mrs. Jones."


	16. Good Enough II

**Title: because we deserve it.**

**Rating: g**

**Respond to a prompt that asked for a follow up from Good Enough I. Special dedication to alexandra . sarafolean who said the last piece was way sad. Also thank you everyone for your lovely reviews! Thank you for appreciating the work that goes into these things. **

* * *

"Isn't Friday's our Granny's steak nights?" is Henry's first words when he walks through the door and sees Emma and Killian setting up the dining table.

Killian shoots a furtive glance at her before turning to grin at Henry.

"Hello to you too, kid," she says with a roll of her eyes. He's growing up to be quite the sass-master, no doubt taking lessons from his stepfathers.

"We're still having steak, lad, just at home."

"It's a bit crowded there, and we wanted some peace and quiet with you," Emma explains as she distributes portions of salad onto three plates.

Henry glances between them, before shrugging in the universal way that signifies _whatever _and joins them at the table.

Killian plates the well-done steak for her and the medium-rare for Henry, and Emma takes a moment to appreciate the simple domesticity of it all – the fact that Killian knows their preferences (she likes hers with mint sauce while Henry is more of a Worchester kind of guy) fills her with a sense of contentment.

"Can I have chocolate milk?" Henry asks, though she thinks he does it as a matter of formality rather than genuine concern for her opinion because he's already at the fridge door.

"Sure," she says, because she has memories of him as a young child demanding chocolate milk with his dinner (and it's been a whole year since New York but sometimes she still has a little real/not real game playing in her head) and it's not worth denying.

"I'll have some too, if you don't mind," Killian says, nudging Henry with his shoulder as he throws the take-out packets away.

Emma shakes her head fondly at her husband (it's still a bit of a thrill to think she's married, actually married), who is grinning winningly at her like the five year old that he is.

"Captain Hook drinks chocolate milk with dinner? How come they never mentioned this in the movies?"

Killian shoots Henry a glare at the mention of his waxed-moustache, perm-haired counterpart, (it's a bit of a sore spot, much to everyone's delight) and says, "Because they couldn't get a bloody thing right about me."

"Except the hook," Henry reminds him, brown eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Which is on the bugger's wrong hand," Killian shoots back easily.

"Boys," Emma says, tone exasperated, "sit down and eat your dinner."

"Yes, mom," Henry says sarcastically, and Emma wonders just when exactly did he fall into this phase of teenage-hood.

"Oh, by the way, gramps is totally undermining your sword teachings," Henry tells Killian a few minutes later, segueing into conversation easily.

Emma watches as Killian's eyebrows shoot up, swallowing his food and fixing Henry with a curious stare.

"Oh? And how is that?"

Henry takes his time answering, chewing slowly; clearly enjoying teasing his stepfather.

"Says you leave too much of your here," he gestures to his own mid-riff, "open for attack."

"Funny for him to be giving me criticisms when he hasn't bested me in a sword fight yet," is his grouchy reply.

"But I have," Emma chimes in happily.

Henry snorts, muttering something under his breath that Emma doesn't catch but makes Killian's eyebrows rise higher (she'll have to ask him later).

"Ten bucks says he let you win, mom."

Killian laughs, thumping Henry on the shoulder proudly.

"Boy is wise beyond his years, love."

"I still clocked you out cold!"

"Aye, you took me by surprise but I was hardly _out_, and I could have… skewered you if I wanted to, Swan, you know that."

"You guys are so _weird," _Henry says, shaking his head as he shovels more food down his throat, "most couples just bump into each other at Starbucks or something."

"You love us for it," Emma responds, and Henry just shrugs back at her, expression saying _yeah, what can you do?_

They finish their meal in relative silence, with Killian and Emma asking about Henry's week and receiving monosyllable, vague answers – the word _fine_ has become a hallmark of Henry's vocabulary.

It isn't until desert that Killian shoots her a look, one that says _now, now, do it now, _that Emma starts to feel a sensation akin to walking on a tightrope.

"Henry," Killian starts, gripping her hand in a show of solidarity, because this is a big deal and…

"Finally," Henry cuts in, his expression smug.

Emma feels a wave of confusion that tampers her nerves, and she glances at Killian briefly to see his eyebrow crease.

"Finally what?"

"You're pregnant," Henry accuses, "so, am I the first to know?"

"What?"

"Would it be so bad if she were?"

Henry raises his eyebrows smugly at them, and Emma isn't sure if she should laugh or smack her head on the table.

"Wait, kid, what makes you think I'm pregnant?"

"You two have been acting weirder than usual all week," her son answers, raising a finger in count, "two, you haven't had any wine with your steak like you usually do, three, he keeps asking me how I'm getting along with Roland," Henry nods his head at Killian, who lets go of her hand to scratch his beard sheepishly, "four, we're hiding out here away from everyone and you guys have been shooting each other these looks all night; come on guys, you've been married for like a year _and_ I'm fifteen, not five!"

"Damn," Emma mutters, impressed despite the mortification that her teenage son has called them out so easily.

"Very good, Henry," Killian praises, "but you've missed the mark."

"And what's that?" Henry challenges.

"We wanted to discuss the idea with you first, before actually committing to it."

"Wait, you're not pregnant?" he asks, looking at her in disbelief.

"No, but we want to be, if that's okay with you," Emma says, biting her lip.

"Oh my god. You're asking me permission to have sex with your wife?!" Henry asks, rounding to stare at Killian.

"Henry!" Emma yells, voice choking because she _cannot believe the words that are coming out from his mouth. _Where the hell did he learn to speak like that?!

Killian's eyes are wide, and he is rigid in his seat, staring at her and then Henry with an alarmed look that tells her he's totally out of his depth. So is she, come to think of it.

"I'm asking lad, if the idea of a sibling would be to your liking," Killian says after a moment, voice surprisingly level. "As for your question on the former, I most certainly _do not_ need your permission."

"Eww!"

"You _did _ask, Henry," Emma reminds him, regaining the upper hand.

"And we just wanted to make sure you knew we valued your input in this family."

"A child will change things, lad, but not how much we love you."

She meets her son's eyes, and she sees the slightest bit of guilt there for the disrespect. He nods at them both, acknowledging their inclusion in decision-making.

"Only if it's a girl," Henry says a moment later, with a nod.

"And why's that?"

"Too many boys in this family," Henry says with an easy shrug.

"Can't promise you that," Emma says, trying not to think about just how mouthy Henry is getting, because she'd been a damn hellfire at his age, and minus the sporadic bits of talking-back, he's a perfect angel.

"Henry," Killian says, "we're serious about not wanting to replace you or loving you less or anything of the sort. We love you, you know that, don't you?"

She sees his gaze soften as he meets his stepfather's eyes.

"Yes, I do," he answers.

They stare at each other for another heartbeat, before Killian's face relaxes. "Good."

Emma breathes out a sigh of relief, loudly, which draws their attention.

"Did you really think I'd throw a tantrum and say no, mom?"

"What? No. I just, we just wanted to make sure you were part of this decision making process."

"Most parents don't," Henry notes, and Emma nods, because even at 29 she'd had a sibling sprung on her out of the blue.

"We're not most parents," Killian says, sounding a tad smug.

"No, you aren't," Henry concedes with a sigh, but he's also smiling, so Emma's not worried.

Emma relaxes into her seat, finishing the remnants of her fruit salad, watching as Killian and Henry both cheers to 'baby' with their chocolate milk.

Her husband catches her eye as he takes big gulp, eyes crinkling with happiness, and Emma thinks, _yeah, we can __totally do this._

About two hours later, after an intensive game of Seasons, (a board game Henry fell in love with in New York and has now taught all his sets of parents to play), they wind down on the couch with Emma nestled on Killian's right, eyes closed and basking in the normalcy of it all when she hears it; their conversation about which cards have more power moving into a completely different realm of discussion.

"Killian?"

"Hmm?"

"Is it okay if I call you Dad?"

She feels more than hears Killian's sharp intake of breath, her own body stiffening slightly beside his.

"I mean, Neal will always be my real dad, you know, but you're real too. And… I never really knew him…not like I know you and…"

"Henry," Killian interrupts gently, "it would be an immense honor to be known as your father, I could ask for no better son. But you're right, you never really knew Bae, Neal, though what I told you back when he first passed remains true… you're more like him than you know – smart, brave, and true."

"It's just…" and Henry lowers his voice, presumably so Emma doesn't hear, "it doesn't change what he did to mom, y'know? I have 11 years of memories of that truth, and I don't want to be like him. People keep telling me how much I'm like him, but I don't want to be."

Emma evens her breathing, focusing on it in order not to interrupt what is clearly a conversation between father and son, despite how desperately she wants to assure Henry that he's better than he sum of his parents. All of them.

"Aye, Baelfire has made some terrible life choices, but so have we all. Each one of your parents have done some truly heinous things… Regina cast a curse at a terrible price, I have lived 300 years of piracy, your grandfather is literally known as The Dark One, need I go on? Yet here we are, underserving yet still accepting and cherishing your love. The key, Henry, is to choose which things about the people around you like, and become that."

Emma strains to hear Henry's next words, but her son is ostensibly quiet.

"I can never replace your real father Henry, but I will make sure I spend every day earning the honor to be called Dad."

This time, she can loudly hear the smile and gratitude in Henry's voice as he says, "Thank you, Killian. _Dad_."

When Killian speaks, he sounds like he's a stone throw's away from sobbing.

"You're welcome, lad."

She feels Killian stretching, putting his arm around their son and she's not yet pregnant, but the sudden urge to just bawl is strong, because how on earth does she deserve such perfection?

Henry heaves to his feet, and Emma can imagine the shy, sheepish smile he is throwing at his stepfather as he says, "Goodnight dad."

And then, to her surprise, he steps forward and bends, placing a soft kiss to her brow with a whispered, "Goodnight mom."

He hasn't done that in a while, and Emma fights the urge to throw her arms around him and coddle him until they all fall asleep on the couch.

She hears the door shut, and Killian's stare on her, and feigns sleep for another few seconds (it's a useless battle, he knows she's heard everything), before opening her eyes to meet his slightly awestruck gaze.

"No one has ever called me Dad before," he says quietly, pulling her to him.

"If we're lucky, you'll have two somebodies doing that," she says, nudging her nose against his arm, breathing in the musky scent that is distinctly him.

"I'm already beyond lucky."

He places a kiss into her hair, and they remain that way for an untold amount of time, before Emma blinks open an eye lazily (she doesn't even remember closing them) and says, "So all in all, that went well?"


	17. Late Night with The Joneses

**title: happy endings aren't always what you expect them to be**

**rating: g**

**PREMISE: The curse resets, all those who came with Zelena's curse are sent back to the EF, and only Killian **_(who gets something of his returned by Rumple)_**, Emma **_(who finally understands what it means to have an unexpected happy ending)_** and Henry **_(who once again is the only one who truly belongs)_** remain in our world. They retain their memories, but its tinged with a strong dreamy haze so they're never sure if they actually lived it or not.**

"So," the host says, (Emma scrambles to remember her name, Angela, or Angie or Annie? Something like that) "the two of you are being hailed as the married version of JK Rowling."

"That's a mighty compliment to give, even if the math makes sense that two of us could only ever amount to one Rowling," Killian says, all bashful smiles, and she's so glad he's an absolute old hat at these kind of things because while she does well, Killian simply oozes charm and charisma and it makes everything so much easier.

"Oh, I don't think that's what they mean at all," the woman says with a beatific smile, "so anyway, tell us, how on earth did you guys get the inspiration to write a_five_ book series about fairy tale characters?"

Emma's prepared for this question.

"Well, I've always wondered why The Evil Queen hated Snow White. I mean, there had to be more to it than just 'oh, she's prettier than me' because it just seemed so shallow. And I thought why not explore that, and from there the whole thing kind of took a world of its on," Emma explains, sinking a little into Killian's side by force of habit.

"But there's more than just Snow White's story in there. You have Rumplestiltskin, and Aurora, and Peter Pan, Robin Hood, Pinocchio, even The Wicked Witch of the West! Why the hodge-podge?"

"The thing is, all these stories have happy endings in common. And we thought, well what happens _after _happily ever after? What happens once their main stories are done? And then we got to answering them."

"And why did you decide to go the villainous route of Captain Hook, Killian?"

Emma turns her head to her husband, enjoying the expressions that cross his face whenever someone refers to Hook as a villain. He's always felt a connection to the supposed-villain, and Emma has always given Killian full reign when it came to Captain Hook's backstory, which ended up as Book Three in the series, aptly titled _Finding Neverland_.

"Adrian Hook is not a villain," Killian says, looking at the host reproachfully.

"He's an anti-hero, Byronic, if you will. And I've always thought there's a whole lot more to Hook's story than sitting around Neverland tormenting a teenager; there had to be a purpose. So I created one."

"Your Pan is not so much a teenager as he is," the host says, but is cut off by Killian's "a demon child."

The host laughs. "Yes, exactly. What's that about?"

"I've never liked Peter Pan," Killian says with a shrug, as if that's explanation enough.

"Now for those watching, it's basically centered around Caffrey, who ends up being related to like 99% of these characters. And the story branches out from Caffrey being adopted by The Evil Queen, who is also Anna Swan's step-grandmother, who is his birth mother. Did I get that right?"

"Spot on, Emily," Killian praises her, and Emma wonders why she thought the woman's name was Angela.

"It's a real family story," Emma says, only slightly sarcastic.

"A really complicated one. Now, in a recent Reddit AMA," Emily waves her hand to the projecting screen behind her, showing a screen cap of the conversation, "Emma, you said a lot of the characters are based of real life. Caffrey has a bit of Henry, your son, in him, and Anna Swan sounds a whole lot like Emma Swan, which is of course your maiden name."

Emma nods, ducking her head to Killian's arm as the bright lights of the studio strain her eyes.

"So that begs the question, do you actually know someone as deliciously evil as Regina or completely crazy as Rumple?"

Killian laughs next to her, and Emma smiles at Emily.

"Thankfully, no."

"Well, that's a relief," Emily says, but Emma has the distinct impression she would have liked an affirmative answer more. No doubt so she could extract some drama that was sorely lacking in this mellow interview.

"Now, we know the Disney owned ABC network has picked up the series and that we can expect the pilot in time for the fall season, so tell us, how much of a hand do you have in the show?"

"Oh not much," Killian answers, rubbing his palms together (it's cold in the studios), before settling one on her thigh.

"We've met the actors though, let's just say you're going to _love _Colin O'Donoghue and Jennifer Morrison as their characters."

"Yeah, and seriously, ABC has done an amazing job bringing the costumes and set to life. And they've added a very interesting wardrobe piece that I wished I had done in the books."

"Aye, there's something they did for Hook, from a wardrobe perspective, that I wished I had thought of too," Killian says, rubbing the back of his ear.

"_Oh_? Do tell."

"Can't, sorry," Killian says happily, not sounding sorry at all as he dangles the information gleefully – it's such a small detail but it boggles the mind how he derives joy from things like these.

"You'll just have to keep an eye out for it."

"Anything you can tell us, then?"

"Yes," Emma replies, grinning as she catches the eye of their publisher sitting in the first row of the audience.

"We'd like to do a little reading," Killian says, pulling out a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket.

Emily looks positively radiant at the prospect of exclusive new information, and the audience titters in anticipation.

Killian holds out the paper but Emma shakes her head, urging him on with a slight tilt of her head. She definitely prefers his lilting voice to her own rough one and figures the world will too.

Killian sips the green tea in front of them, buying a little time before he drops the bombshell revelation on their adoring masses (and wow, Emma still can't believe this is her life).

He clears his throat, wriggling his bottom slightly as the plush couch shifts beneath them, and then picks up the paper in both hands and begins reading, voice like a dream.

"Prologue of There's No Place Like Home," he begins, and Emma hears a muted '_Oh my god_' from Emily.

Killian's eyes flick up momentarily to grin at their host, before resuming.

"_Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, be it ever so humble, there's no place like home. – John Howard Payne_

_It was a poem long forgotten that suddenly seemed to make its presence known, as Adrian considered the sleeping six year old before him. Unruly jet-black hair and an insatiable curiosity tempered only by the adventures of sleep, Dylan slept soundly, undeterred by the heavy cold air that refused to dissipate despite Anna's best attempts at warming the room._

_His eyes roamed over to the bed on his right, where four year-old Meara slept, honey blonde hair fanned out behind her in an exact replica of her mother's._

_His breath seized, filled with the sudden, overwhelming love he felt looking at these two miracles, part him and part her, utterly perfect in every way. And yet, the love he felt was shadowed by fear and burning protectiveness, brought on by the secret he was now keeping for nigh a week._

_Anna was going to kill him, but if he had his way, she'd never find out, at least, not until the threat was found and neutralized. He didn't have the best track record in having his way, but he'd die protecting them._

_ I just bloody hope it doesn't come to that, he thought sourly, hand seeking out the slip of paper in his pocket, a reminder – they were never safe."_

Emma, who had been scanning the audience's reaction the whole time Killian's voice had enraptured the room, making the bright studio feel more like a setting of one of their books rather than the carefully constructed corporate design that it actually was, felt relieved and insanely proud.

There's a moment of pin-drop silence, before the audience bursts into a frenzy of applause, voices screaming out "More, more please!" and "Are you serious, you're leaving us like that?!".

"Well, _that_ was unexpected!" Emily says, once the noise dies down.

Emma grins, and notices their publisher giving them the thumbs up, clearly pleased at the enthusiastic reception.

"A good unexpected, right?" Emma asks, fishing.

"Heck yeah! I'm really excited, you guys made my day! So, the question on everyone's minds, when can we expect this book?"

"The same weekend the pilot premieres," Emma answers smoothly, remembering her rehearsed line clearly, considering their PR manager has been whispering things like, '_Don't fuck this up, Killian_!' and '_It's 17th, not 27th, for the last damn time, Emma_!'

"Sometime during the pilot which airs on the 16th of September on ABC at 8 pm central time, there'll be an advertisement which will give you a code for a 10% discount on the book, which will hit all major bookstores on the 17th of September."

Emily nods, giving them what Emma can only describe as a shark's grin, clearly acknowledging the clever bit of marketing at play.

"Honestly, I'm not sure if I'm more excited for the book to be out, or for the pilot to finally air. I mean, I haven't seen the full thing myself, so I'll be freaking out just like the rest of you," Killian cuts in smoothly, all bright and easy smiles that takes the awkwardness away.

"Well then, we'll all be watching, won't we?" Emily asks, question directed to the audience who responds with a loud _yes _that makes Emma smile despite herself.

"Thanks once again, to Killian and Emma Jones, authors of the Once Upon A Time series, the TV pilot that will be airing on the 16th of September, that's in six weeks, and a surprise 6th book to the series, which will hit major bookstores on the 17th!"

The camera pans to them, and Emma waves, feeling Killian do the same beside her, all smiles (and fuck, her cheeks are hurting and her eyes are stinging from the bright lights), before Emily speaks again.

"Up next, we have ice skating champion, Yuna Kim, here to talk about her recent win and joining the American team!"

"And cut!"

The lights dim, and Emma breathes a sigh of relief, as Killian jumps up from the comfortable couch to offer his hand to her. She takes it, unable to stop the smile when she sees his giddy grin, falling into him easily as he places a chaste kiss on her lips.

"Well done, love."

"Well done yourself, Romeo," she teases, pulling away to face Emily, who is walking towards them brightly.

"Thanks, once again. That was a real treat!'

"Anytime," Killian says, with a wink, and Emma notes the light red that dusts Emily's cheek. They're all married adults, but clearly Killian Jones has this effect (sometimes to her absolute chagrin, sometimes to her wild amusement) on just about everyone he meets.

And sometimes, she's not sure this whole fairy tale _isn't _some distant memory, a history rather than a fantasy, and maybe that's why she was so desperate to write it all down, document it for posterity and her sanity, even if prior to this (wildly popular) book series, she's never written anything but reports from her bailsbonds days.

Still, regardless of whether its somehow true, or just a beautiful shared imaginary world she's built with her husband, her current life and family is fairy tale enough – she doesn't need anything else other than Killian, Henry, Liam and Mia.


End file.
